Ghost Boy
by atrum infractus
Summary: Sam thought that death was generally the end, not the beginning. But Dean never really did like rules, did he?
1. Prologue

**Ghost Boy  
_Prologue__

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_Warning: Obviously, character death, but not in the normal fashion. Also, minor language- nothing that you don't see and drool over every Thursday.

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_Most of the time, death seems like the end. You know, they stick you in some hole in the ground, and if you're one of the lucky ones, you'll also eventually get your remains burned and treated with salt, courtesy of some freak like me and my brother. 

Of course, those new-age Yanni people would tell you that death is always the beginning- yeah, well, speaking from personal experience here, it's a pretty screwed-up beginning. If you're stuck up there in the clouds, you're stuck listening to harps and angels singing all the time- such a pain in the ass. It's like one long church service- you know the ones, the uncomfortable pews, the chapel that's just a couple of degrees too warm for the suit your aunt forced you into- and the pastor just drones on and on, not noticing that everyone's just mumbling "Amen" from time to time to make him feel all macho and important.

Now, I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound too pleasant to me.

Then there's hell. Now, honestly, I guess I could go for hell- but you see, my job kind of made it a dangerous option for me, considering that my life was dedicated to killing all of them...and, well, there's no Afterlife Insurance, is there? And I really don't see myself having any drinking games with the Fire Demon, Meg, and Bloody Mary any time soon.

So there you have it. Death really sucks for me.

Luckily, I died rather violently, which gave me the third option of going back to earth. Now, as much as I wanted to try Molten Vodka in hell and listen to the harps all day in heaven, I figured I could settle for Purple Murples and Metallica back on earth. And besides, what would be an eternity without having that beanpole brother of mine around? I just knew he was probably holed up in some motel room in God knows where, looking out of a rainy window, getting dead drunk and contemplating suicide or something nice and angsty like that.

Well, the angels weren't too sorry to see me go. Though I heard the demons were; apparently they had some awesome torture plans for me- considering the fact that they created torture, and they considered their whole master plan to be awesome, I wasn't exactly feeling weepy over missing out on that.

I would have liked to try that Molten Vodka, though...

_

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Author Notes: I know that this is not the original prologue. This is a new prologue. The old prologue is the actual story...well, we all make mistakes. Thanks for reading, and as always, please review!_


	2. Child of the Moon

**Ghost Boy **

_**Chapter One  
Child of the Moon **

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_The wind blows rain into my face  
The sun glows at the end of the highway  
Child of the moon, rub your rainy eyes  
Oh, child of the moon  
Give me a wide-awake crescent-shaped smile _

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He really can't breathe right now. He's just turned out the light, and it's like the darkness has creeped over the world and into his heart, because he can't grieve in the daytime. Not when who he was grieving for had been dead to the world for a few months... 

But something feels different tonight. He's not feeling Dean's abscence like he normally does. Every day, he lives in an empty motel room. The towns change, the seasons change, and the hunts are never the same, but he's always alone. And that is the one thing he would give anything in the world to change, only he's not sure if he has anything in the world that could buy back a lost life anymore.

Tonight is weird. Instead of missing Dean, he's feeling like his big brother's right there, laying on the other bed, just preparing some smart-ass comment that's somehow going to make everything all better. In a way, he's waiting for it...part of his mind's telling him, _bring it on, Dean, give me the works..._ But the other part's deflating, knowing that comment's never going to come.

"Well, Sammy, you just gonna sit there and cry about it?"

_I'm delusional. Sam, you've been on the road for too damn long. Just go to sleep, and in the morning, you'll be sane...I'm fine, I'm just tired..._

"No, wait, let me guess- you're _praying_, right? Oh, God, the things you learn about a guy!"

Sam sits up so quickly that the darkened room around him is spinning. _Dean?_ But it's not possible...is it? Dean's been dead for two months. He's been living out of crappy motels and thriving on his choice of take-out for two months. He hasn't heard any mullet rock for _two freakin' months._

Now, his dead brother is accusing him of prayer?

He stumbles out of bed, his mind racing a thousand miles an hour. _I'm insane. Oh, damn- I'm going to straight into one of those strait-jackets. White padded walls, here I come..._

When he finally reaches the light switch, he _does_ say a prayer. Maybe he's just dreaming, and he's really hoping that he'll wake up soon if he is. But maybe he's not crazy... He flips on the light, then turns to face the beds.

Dean's got his stupid smile plastered on his face at the moment. He's leaning back in bed like he was born to just lounge around- then again, maybe he had, before the demon came and screwed up all of their lives. But it sure as hell is Dean, just like right before that damn wendigo tore him into pieces.

Sam meets his brother's gaze, and the grin slips from Dean's face. _Finally_.

But Sam can't help it- he keeps staring at his big brother, as if waiting for him to burst into sparks or something of that sort...well, who wouldn't be? Dean was dead. He had burned the body himself. He had been driving the Impala around recklessly ever since, and if Dean was alive, there was no way Sam would still be breathing after running two stop signs and _God knows _how many red lights...

He reaches down and pinches himself until his tanned forearm goes white.

Dean snorts. "Very mature, Sammy."

Sam gapes at him. He's not dreaming- his arm hurts like a _bitch_, courtesy of his own stupidity, of course.

"What the hell?"

That million-watt smile flicks back onto his brother's face. "Exactly, Sammy," he says happily. "What the hell."


End file.
